by Robin NobleSaturday 22nd was rather grey, but we decided to go to the coast - mainly in the hunt for a good chandlers - and included a visit to the Étang I described recently. When we arrived at the car-park it was drizzling and the place was deserted, but we thought we should nip out of the car and head down to the shore - just in case! It proved an excellent decision, despite the relative cold and damp. Probably precisely because it was not so nice and the place was quiet, there were flamingos close inshore, and in the grey conditions, that wonderful rose pink really shone. There were quite a few close by, and we watched them for a while; they are wonderfully angular birds and every movement is worth watching. While we were doing just that, I saw something in the distance, flying away from me, and decided to go in search of it. What I had seen was a dark raptor, but that was all. As it turned out, I missed the star movement of the whole flamingo show; but my partner not only saw it - she also photographed it. The "it" in question was the mating of the flamingos: I will leave the reader to imagine how awkward a manoeuvre this actually is! The mating rather took the photographer by surprise, and the pic of the actual moment was sadly out of focus, but you can see one of a few seconds after - the attitudes of the respective birds is interesting!

My mystery raptor looked very dark in the poor light, and I had only a brief view, but it was flying slowly and very low, which immediately suggested that it was some kind of harrier. The only colour I could see was a rich brown on the " shoulders", which suggests fairly firmly that it was a male Marsh Harrier - only the second I have ever seen.

The great-crested grebes were much in evidence, while in the distance there were three black swans, which was rather surprising. As far as I know, black swans are native in Australia, and any you see elsewhere must have escaped from some collection of exotic wildfowl. Are there any such collections hereabouts? As so often, I have no idea !

by Robin Noble One of the joys of living here is that we are so close to Spain: we can hop over the Border at very short notice. During the recent spell of fine, spring weather we decided to do just that. I was in my bedroom, putting a few clothes in a bag, when a movement outside the window caught my eye. I turned to have a look, and it turned out that what I had seen was a blackbird flying down to land under the cherry trees in the little orchard. What I had not previously noticed were two quite dapper and self-possessed little birds. They were finches, with a neat, little, seed-eating beak, generally yellowish in colour, with a marked streaking on the breast. I knew at once what they must be, as not long before I had been told to look out for serin, and had duly looked them up. They had few distinct markings on the head, and I suspect they were last year's young. The book (again!), says that they have a lovely tinkling call, rather similar to that of a canary, to which bird they are quite closely related; I have not yet made out the call so cannot comment on that! Later that day we were indeed in Spain, on the coast just south of Roses. Friends had drawn our attention to a large nature reserve, which we had managed so far to overlook, so we duly headed for it. Its name is Aiguamolls de l'Emporda, and from what we saw on this occasion, it is a large area adjacent to the shore, with ponds, marshes and damp meadows- and lots of birds! We did not actually get very far, there was so much to see. The first large pond is very close to the Nature Centre itself, and was full of activity. There were lots of duck- mallard of course, shelduck, the amazing shoveler, and along with some coot, moorhen and busy dabchick, a number of Egyptian geese. There were cormorants in the distance, some gulls and egrets, but in the meadow across the pond, my day was made by the sight of a few cranes- impressive at even that distance. I don't know whether they will breed there (the meadows look rather suitable) or whether they have yet to migrate through the Alberes on the way to Hungary or some other country in Central Europe. And there were storks..... Actually, there turned out to be a lot of storks, particularly in the trees around the meadows. Here, nest-building was well and truly underway, with some of these amazing, huge birds standing about on their enormous nests, others flying in with sticks and twigs. The arrival of one with nesting material was greeted by the other with a strange sort of rattling noise, which almost sounded mechanical. The sight of these extraordinary creatures, standing about or flying around, their immense nests on tree- or pylon-tops, against the brilliant blue sky and fresh spring greenery made a real impression on us. Here was the sheer exuberance of nature, the vivid joy of spring, and we were so lucky to be part of it.

For a more comprehensive set of photos please see my Gallery. The twin-bore TGV tunnel between Perpignan and Figueres was completed on 17th February 2009 and opened for traffic on 19th December 2010. I had observed it keenly from the start five years earlier and was particularly interested in its effect on nature in and around its workings. The engineering side was also remarkable.

The massively-constructed bridge over the river Tech.

About a kilometre north of the tunnel entrance the line crosses the river Tech via a massively constructed bridge.

First of all, the technical side. It is 8.3 kilometres (5.2 miles) long, with a maximum gradient of 1.2% and a maximum design speed for 350 kmh. Each bore was completed individually with two amazing tunnelling machines called "Mistral" and "Tramontane". They started at Figueres with Mistral breaking through in the autumn of 2007 and Tramontane a couple of months later.

"Mistral" tunnelling machine (far side) breaks through.

"Tramontane" tunnelling machine - over 50m long.

The entry/exit point in the mountainside is massively constructed, going back into the mountain many tens of metres. There is a large building nearby, presumably for management, control and emergencies, with a helipad.

The tunnel entrance goes a long way into the mountain.

The management complex and helipad, with Canigou in the distance.

Previously the site area had been crisscrossed by sentiers and game paths (many too small for me to follow). Small game can now bypass uphill of the area and there is a small tunnel, probably mainly for water run-off, not far away from the entrance. While this is fine for small animals as large as badger, boar and fox it is too small for anything as large as deer. Deer must now pass uphill of the tunnel entrance or under the bridges over roads and the river Tech.

Little tunnel under the railway line for water and wildlife.

Badger tracks seen by the little tunnel.

Originally there was a huge scar across the countryside created by the line of the track as it headed towards Perpignan. This has now blended in quite well, largely due to the massive amount of landscaping that has been undertaken by the contractors.

A scar across the countryside.

Landscaping works well.

For a more comprehensive set of photos please see my Gallery, where you will find pictures of the line, tunnel and bridge in various stages of construction as well as some of the tunneling machinery.

by Lesley McLarenIt's mid-March and the Pine Processionary caterpillars are on walkabout. Although much seems to be ahead of itself this spring, these beasties are bang on schedule.

Thaumetopoea pityocampa

They don't appear terribly striking - unless you touch one! Those hairs can cause skin and eye irritation, and asthma in humans; if ingested by an animal, I'm told the allergic reaction could be severe. It seems birds can cope, however. In Isobel's gallery a blue tit is tackling one after raiding a nearby nest. Presumably birds would be hard-wired to avoid them if they were poisonous.

Successive generations of caterpillars can also strip and kill a tree, so, given that our hills are mainly oak-clad, thank Goodness we don't have the Oak Processionaries (that have been cropping up in England since 2006). There are relatively few conifers around here. And, of those, our processionaries seem to prefer one variety (sorry - I don't know the name). Local communities usually organise autumn spraying by helicopter, but cutbacks in recent years mean this is now restricted to public areas (such as "The Park", which I mentioned in a previous blog). In our village at least, individuals with conifers in their gardens have to make their own arrangements. A costly prospect, resulting in more felling than treatment.

You start to notice fresh nests each autumn, stuck in the trees like candyfloss. I've always been surprised at how easily they seem to withstand torrential rain, snow and freezing winds. But having done some homework (see link below), I've discovered that they are especially active during cold winter nights! Turns out they're quite fascinating creatures - described as "among the most social" of caterpillars, always knocking around with their siblings.

Nighttime (less risk of predation?) is when they go foraging in the host tree, before returning to the nest at dawn. They find their way home by means of pheromone trails.Come March, when it's warming up, they prepare to pupate. And it's their behaviour at this time that gives them their name. Leaving the nest in orderly, head-to-tail lines, they make their way down the trees. I've only ever seen quite short processions crossing roads and tracks - at a distance they look like fuzzy shoelaces - but they can be up to 300-long. On reaching soft soil they go underground to pupate over the summer. Adult moths emerge in August, females lay egg masses in the trees, and so it starts again. While I wouldn't want them in my garden, I can't help but respect them.

by Lesley McLarenAbout a week ago, when weeding around some young hedging plants, I was kept company by lots of happily humming bees. I shouldn't have been surprised, as our garden thermometer read 22°C. Said shrubs are also in full bloom, which seems a little early to me. Am I wrong? I know they're spring flowering but I was expecting later in March/April. Unfortunately I can't remember the name of the plant (suggestions welcome).

Seeing the bees reminded me of another March day years ago when a swarm took up residence low down in a conifer in our garden. It had been alarming to hear and see the dark mass approach and swirl around the garden for several minutes (all of us safely indoors), but once the queen had settled and the others gathered around her, it was quite safe to approach. They didn't seem in any hurry to buzz off, however, and although I would have liked to leave them to move along of their own accord, I had no idea when, or even if, that would happen. In the end a neighbour came to our rescue by tracking down a local bee keeper. As dusk descended and the bees got sleepy, the keeper approached la barbe (the beard) hanging from the tree, and slipped an open-topped wooden box up around it, and left it suspended for a while, so stragglers could return from forays in the garden. Then he separated the barbe from the tree and closed the lid. He estimated there were about 20,000 bees. They were safely re-homed, no one was stung, and we were given a jar of honey.

You might just be able to make out the bee hard at work - but what's the plant?

by Lesley McLarenWe have a small almond tree in our garden. It's the first of the 'fruit' trees to flower - usually in January, but ours is always behind the rest. I'm not terribly keen on the marzipan smell, but the blossom is very pretty and, come September, we should have another bumper crop of a dozen or so nuts!

The same day I took this shot, I heard the distinctive call of ravens approaching. Quite unlike the harsh caw of a crow, the raven's call is more of a croak, or a 'cronk.' A friendlier sound, somehow, and unmistakeable. Every time I see or hear one I get a warm feeling inside, as I'm reminded of Scotland and the Lake District.Four of them appeared - two pairs - low over the roof of our bungalow. So low, that I could hear their powerful wingbeats. They were clearly having a lot of fun, tumbling around one another for a couple of minutes above our garden. No locking of claws for which I believe they're famed, but impressive nonetheless. The only other time I've seen a raven 'displaying' was when I was walking down a steep track in the mountains. First came the croak from somewhere behind. I turned, and saw one bird fairly high up, some distance away. But then I spotted its mate, heading straight for me, fast and low, wings tucked in tight. I began to wonder if it had noticed me on its flightpath. As it swerved round me - at eye level - it flipped upside down and back again. I'm fairly sure it winked at me too! There's something jolly about ravens.

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